


A Building in Brooklyn

by Stardust_and_Strawberries



Series: Underappreciated Characters [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, clint barton's building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-20 00:09:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2407961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stardust_and_Strawberries/pseuds/Stardust_and_Strawberries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three formerly mind-controlled assassins find sanctuary in an unlikely place</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Building in Brooklyn

**Author's Note:**

> Written after Season 1 of AOS, may not be canon for Season 2

She needed a place to lie low for a while.

 

SHIELD had helped her, and she would have kept checking in with them if she could, but SHIELD didn't exist anymore and if she was honest with herself a part of her found that freedom exhilarating. All her decisions were her own now, when to sleep, what to eat, where to live.

 

She felt the base of the cardboard box in her hands bow as she shouldered open the door of her new apartment. She didn't have much, just these two boxes and a shoulder bag. It was enough, hell with the elevator not working it was more than enough.

 

"Let me help you with that!" Female, Caucasian, 5"6, early twenties, distinctive facial piercings. No, stop. No need to think like that now.

 

"Thank you, I could use some help after that climb. Is the elevator likely to be fixed soon, you think?"

 

The young woman snorted. "No way, the landlord's really busy all the time. He's like a superhero or something." She saw the startled look on her new neighbor's face, cursed internally - it was a sensitive subject, so many people were still carrying trauma from the invasion. "Nah, I'm just messing with you, he's a nice guy just a bit, you know, disorganized."

 

"Thanks for the help." she said, shutting the door and leaning on it. Outside Aimee sighed and walked away.

 

The apartment was bare and not in the best repair, but there was a cracked mirror in the bathroom. She cleaned her hands and removed her glass eye (the patch had been too distinctive, had attracted comment). The sight of her empty eye socket reassured her, no one in her head but herself.

 

After so long it felt good to be alone.

 

***

 

He needed a place to lie low for a while.

 

He knew he should have vanished, taken off somewhere far away, but it was comforting to know he was near his son even if he could never see him again, could never let him know what he had become.

 

The place was out of the way, the rent was cheap, the landlord didn't seem to care about the scruffy layers covering the blocky prostheses. The apartment wasn't much but it didn't matter, he'd already lost everything.

 

***

 

He needed a place to lie low for a while.

 

He had a name, and if he had a name he had a target, and if he had a target he had a mission. He wasn't sure quite what the mission was, but things were becoming clearer every day as the drugs drained from his system and the serum slowly repaired the brain damage. He would find the man named Bucky Barnes. And then? The next part wasn't clear, but he didn't think the mission was an assassination. He wasn't sure what other sort of mission there was, but maybe his target would know. He had lost his handler. Maybe this Bucky Barnes was his new handler.

 

Without a handler he had a default protocol. Find shelter, stay inconspicuous, await instructions, only pursue the mission if it can be done without drawing attention.

 

He thought he could pursue the mission from here.

 

***

 

They noticed each other in the corridors, in the stairwells, in the street. They spotted the stance, the gloves, the eyes that flicked to exits, the eye that didn't track, the shapes under loose clothes, the distribution of weight, the pupil that didn't dilate, the electric fields, the hands that slid toward pockets. They noted them.

 

***

 

She met him in the basement, both with a basket of laundry in hand, both knowing they were alone, neither sure whether to fight or run. It was the expression of exhausted resignation on his face that decided it.

 

She raised her hands, kneeled slowly. "I haven't come for you." she said, praying she'd called it right.

 

"I haven't come for you either." he said and turned away, the stark fluorescent light highlighting his scars.

 

They filled the machines in silence. Next time they met they nodded at each other.

 

***

 

They met under a broken streetlight on the way home. He raised his hands, remembering what she had said.

 

"I haven't come for you."

 

"Are you Bucky Barnes?"

 

He shook his head. "No. No I'm not. I'm no one."

 

"You are not my mission."

 

***

 

He saw her on the roof (was she waiting for him?). It was rare, but he had had a female handler once. He remembered now. He remembered a lot of things now. He wasn't sure if he wanted a handler again. But there was the mission.

 

She turned as he strode towards her, waiting, assessing. "Are you here to take me in?" he asked.

 

"No." she said softly.

 

His head spun with a long-forgotten emotion. He identified it as relief.

 

"Good." he said and left.

 

***

 

They noticed each other in the corridors, in the stairwells, in the street. Maybe someday they would talk about it but for now there was no need. They understood. They watched out for each other.

 

After so long it felt good not to be alone.


End file.
